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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23934097">behind the scenes.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/alekstraordinary/pseuds/alekstraordinary'>alekstraordinary</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gotham (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bonding, Canon Compliant, Crushes, Feelings, First Meetings, M/M, Pre-Relationship, tags will be updated with each chapter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:34:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,695</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23934097</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/alekstraordinary/pseuds/alekstraordinary</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-shots depicting the development and the course of the relationship between Oswald Cobblepot and Edward Nygma behind the scenes and between the lines of the canon as we know it.</p><p>This is the mutlichapter version of my series under the same title (https://archiveofourown.org/series/1713745) which I'm writing as I progress with watching the show. Currently on s3. Tags will be added with each chapter.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. paths are crossing.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hi there!<br/>My name is Aleks and Gotham Ed Oz and their relationship are the only thing that's been keeping me sane in these trying times so I'm writing a series of one-shots where I take a closer and deeper and gayer look at their relationship! I write one-shots pretty much after every episode I watch as I go as there is not much else for me to do. This first chapter/part is purely a description but there should be more dialogues as we progress. After all what I want is to not only bite into their feelings but also their conversations.<br/>I hope you'll enjoy reading these as much as I enjoy writing them!</p><p>He stood out from the shabbiness and the gloom of his surroundings like a sore thumb. The crisp lines of his perfectly tailored coat and the old-fashioned ribbon with a gem he wore in the place of a tie were sharply cutting him off from the tired and worn-out officers buzzing through the vast, cold hall of the G.C.P.D. — looking into the minds of Oswald and Edward during their first meeting in s01e15</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He stood out from the shabbiness and the gloom of his surroundings like a sore thumb. The crisp lines of his perfectly tailored coat and the old-fashioned ribbon with a gem he wore in the place of a tie were sharply cutting him off from the tired and worn-out officers buzzing through the vast, cold hall of the G.C.P.D. His presence there was so unexpected, and his rather frail frame alone so out of place that he had caught Ed’s attention the very moment he came through the front door. He was clearly looking for someone, yet at the same time, he knew exactly where he was going—a simple conclusion drawn from the way he carried himself, clever eyes scouring the nooks and crannies of the police station. It wasn’t the first instance when he appeared here, and it certainly wasn’t the last, but the previous time it had happened, it had resulted in quite a spectacle between Gordon and Bullock. Even if it weren’t for the peculiar character he seemed to be, the sheer amount of arrogance <em>and </em>importance he held to cause a scene between the two detectives by simply introducing himself would have had been enough to make Ed more than interested in learning more.</p><p> </p><p>As he followed him through the length of the hall, watching him curiously, Ed realized not without amusement, why exactly Oswald Cobblepot was dubbed “the Penguin”. His rather severe limp strikingly resembled a penguin’s wobble, and as they soon came close to each other, there was no denying that also in his pointy hooked nose, his dainty face and his careful movements there was a unique likeness to a bird. Even all the way up to his hairstyle, it forced one to think more of feathers than human hair. Yet, despite the delicate appearance, the intriguing man had undeniable strength about him. He was a walking contradiction, extreme opposites condensed down to a single, incredibly alluring person. He was intimidating, and the air around him seemed to be charged with confidence bordering with pretentious smugness; like despite standing at a rather unimpressive height, he still would be able to beat any potential perpetrator into a bloody pulp. Or, even better, outsmart them in the most masterful manner. Like his bones were made of glass, but his skin was laced with steel, and his mind was a vault filled to the brim with secrets.</p><p> </p><p>There was no denying that he was bright, recognizing that Ed wasn’t just every other officer, not another dull employee counting down seconds to go back home to their miserable lives. No, Oswald was altered, ready to defend himself if there was a need, while still being sure of his position and perhaps even his superiority. Their exchange was brief, but Ed couldn’t help but feel—no, he couldn’t help but <em>know </em>that there was some sort of a connection made between them, like it was fate itself that made it possible for them to meet, no matter how short the interaction was. And even as he walked away to attend to his duties, he kept turning back to look at Oswald, nearly vibrating from the excitement he was experiencing, making all of his internal organs shake. How thrilling it was to meet someone so, so interesting. At last, someone other than another boring cop with a broken moral compass, or a hero wannabe believing in saving this city, or a petty thief looking for ways to afford another fix, or a small-minded criminal unable to see past the tip of their own nose. Ed looked over his shoulder again. Their paths would cross again. He was certain of it. </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>When he crossed the threshold of the G.C.P.D., he had hoped for it to be a short and simple visit, one that would take no longer than a ten minutes, end successfully, and would not bring unnecessary attention to him. Although Oswald certainly did not like to think little of himself, being still a fairly unknown persona definitely had its perks and benefits, such as being able to walk into the police station without getting as much as a bored or otherwise reluctant look from one of its employees. Perhaps this surge of confidence, or the excitement he felt at the perspective of seeing his friend again, was what clouded his perception badly enough that it wasn’t until he had already reached Jim’s desk that he had realized he was being watched. It was rather astonishing that Oswald hadn’t noticed him earlier for two reasons exactly: one, he was not being subtle <em>at all </em>, and two, there was some quality about him that caused a fair share of difficulties to properly describe. There was something about his movements, unnaturally fluid and clinical that made him appear more like a robot than a real person. And there was his gaze, so fixated on this one point, this one person, like the rest of the world ceased to exist. It was unsettling, to put in the simplest terms. </p><p> </p><p>Then, as he followed Oswald across the entire length of the main hall of the station, and they found themselves in a close proximity to each other, the feeling only further intensified. This man was strange, from the tips of his suede shoes, through questionable taste in clothing to the roots of his slicked-back hair. He introduced himself as Edward Nygma, and there were so many perplexing things about him that it was impossible to decide where to even begin. The manner in which he spoke was just as unusual as the way he carried himself, seemingly void of emotions but with something sizzling just underneath the surface. The wide smile stitched to his high cheekboned face appeared honest, yet at the same time it never quite reached his dark eyes. There was a glimmer in them, without a shade of doubt, but it was far from the joyous sparkles he so clearly hoped they seemed to be. They were almost feverish, like there was something crawling under his skin, something that he even himself wasn’t quite aware of. One thing that all of these characteristics had in common was that they screamed “danger”, but not in a way a gun pointed between your eyes might, but rather like a knife in someone’s pocket, waiting to be used. </p><p> </p><p>There was no rhyme or reason to Nygma’s motivations to even engage in a conversation—he said himself that he wanted nothing. And seeing how he emphasized that he <em>knew </em>who Oswald was, it could only mean that the danger was thrilling to him. If it was anyone else, anyone else at all, it would be easy to dub Nygma simply stupid, but this was not the case at all. In the midst of these mixed and disturbing signals, Oswald could be sure of one thing: he was looking at someone who was too smart for his own good. Certainly someone smarter than the drunken shade of a man Jim’s parter was, smarter even than Jim himself. If there was one person in the G.C.P.D. that was worth looking out for, it was without a doubt Edward Nygma. After he stepped aside, likely returning to whatever police duties he was assigned, Oswald still couldn’t quite get rid of the odd tingling at the back of his neck. Was he any more superstitious, he would think that something profound has just occurred, something of significance, something that would irreversibly change his life. But he wasn’t. All he did was to make a mental note that there is yet another person he should be wary of. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. a helping hand.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Is it really necessary to be done in here?” he finally asked, shifting impatiently on the stool he was sitting on, and turning his head at the man accompanying him. Ed. Edward. Nygma. A forensic scientist at the G.C.P.D. The man who saved his life and then requested mentorship. — a short conversation between Oswald and Ed behind the scenes of s02e09</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The tiny apartment at the top of one of the countless crumbling buildings was in every inch Gotham’s essence—condensed and closed in the little space there was in the cramped open plan. It was dark in there, despite all the possible lamps shining, as if the city’s inherent gloom was gnawing at the trembling edges of the green neon glow pouring inside through the dirty windows. There was a recognizable cold and heaviness in the air that not even the radiator buzzing on one of the walls could fight, and neither could the fruit and fresheners remedy the ever-present grim stench. Yet, at the same time, it was comfortable. It was familiar, so to say, or at least it could be to someone born and raised in Gotham, as the flat held the city’s mark burned deep into its walls, still persisting there in spite of the owner’s clear efforts to make it more “his”.</p><p> </p><p>There were odd pictures and posters hanging on the walls, and at least half the furniture had been exchanged to make it appear more like taken out of a laboratory, just to name a few of the items indicating what kind of person the owner of the apartment could be. If someone was to pay more attention to the details—if there was anyone to care enough about the quiet tenant who never really spoke to anyone, nor caused any disturbance—they would see such personal belongings as a stack of neatly filled journals sitting on the desk, or a seemingly unnecessary pair of glasses on the bedside table. There was something clinical about that space, so meticulous and organized it almost felt unnatural. </p><p> </p><p>Or, perhaps, these were just the irrational and overly analytic thoughts running through an exhausted mind. </p><p> </p><p>If possible, the bathroom there was even smaller and giving even more of an obscure impression than the rhythmic humming of the blinking sign right behind the window. Regardless of having had been raised in worse conditions, Oswald still struggled to appreciate the downgrade of his surroundings he had gotten used to since taking over Gotham as his own. To an infinitesimally small extend, he knew he should be grateful to even be alive, but given his record of brushing with death and then still making it out alive, stronger than before, this was no comfort. Then there was the awareness of the recent events heaving on his shoulders already, mixed with the embarrassment of letting himself appear so small and so weak to a stranger. And one he owed his life to, and who looked up to him at that. All of this, together with his distaste for the decoring, and still far from full strength after being shot, boiled down to bitterness. </p><p> </p><p>“Is it really necessary to be done in here?” he finally asked, shifting impatiently on the stool he was sitting on, and turning his head at the man accompanying him. Ed. Edward. Nygma. A forensic scientist at the G.C.P.D. The man who saved his life and then requested mentorship. Even for Oswald, this was a strange situation to be in, and Nygma wasn’t making it any easier with the way he carried himself. It was hardly possible to figure out how to actually address the odd man to begin with, let alone what to make out of him. So far, he was like one of the riddles he seemed to be so fond of, and one that Oswald didn’t quite know how to crack just yet. </p><p> </p><p>In response to the question, Nygma—or Ed, as he insisted on being called—gave him a wide smile, the skin at the corners of his dark brown eyes crinkling. “It’s easier for me, and consequently quicker for you, to get your dressings changed close to running water, Mr. Penguin,” he responded cheerfully, throwing a piece of gauze stained with blood into the nearby garbage can. “Besides, it’s <em>way </em>cleaner in here, and we don’t want any you catching any infections. I had to dig out the bullet out of your shoulder and stitch up the wound afterward. I’m afraid I’m not particularly skilled with that, so it’s going to leave a scar. But that won’t be the first one, will it?” </p><p> </p><p>Frustrated, Oswald just scoffed and grit his teeth as Nygma cleaned out the wound on his shoulder blade properly. He was far from being in the mood for making small talk, especially not after he exposed himself emotionally in such a pathetic manner, as if he was still that nobody holding an umbrella and having to beg for his life. Now, there he was, the king of Gotham, exhausted from blood loss to the point he could only make his way around the shabby apartment he was trapped in. He couldn’t stay here idle like this, not when he had his empire to take back. He hoped for Galavan’s sake that he would get life in prison, spend the rest of his miserable days behind the bars, because if Oswald ever got his hands on him- </p><p> </p><p>“All done here!” Nygma said, as he put a piece of band-aid to Oswald’s back, pressing down at it gently to make sure it stuck. “It doesn’t look too bad, but I’m certain it would have looked better if you didn’t insist on leaving on two different occasions, after I’ve explicitly told you that you can’t.” </p><p> </p><p>Oswald chose to ignore that, instead rolling his eyes and reached down to pull the oversized pajamas onto his shoulders again, but—to his dismay—he was stopped. “Oh, what now?” </p><p> </p><p>Holding up a white roll, and turning it between his fingers slightly, Nygma reminded: “Bandages”. He took out the pin holding the whole thing together. “To keep the dressing in place, and to put an appropriate amount of pressure on your wound, to ensure proper healing process. Now, if you could just… raise your arms a little…”</p><p> </p><p>Begrudgingly, Oswald followed the directions, but not without a displeased grimace. “Why are you even helping me?” he asked, before he could bite his tongue. “I have met <em>plenty </em>of strange men, but I still struggle to believe that you would just take the most wanted man in all of Gotham into your apartment because you wanted <em>guidance </em>. In murder, at that.” </p><p> </p><p>Nygma didn’t respond right away, but even sitting with his back facing him, Oswald could feel the subtle change in the atmosphere. It seemed like he had unknowingly struck a nerve. “I don’t really like it when people call me strange.” Ah, there it was. “I’m helping you because I wanted to. Because I need guidance on this new path, yes. And, maybe because I believe in fate,” he kept talking as he leaned to the side, wrapping the stiff bandages tightly around Oswald’s chest. “And because you asked me to.” </p><p> </p><p>“What?” Oswald moved on his stool, turning his head yet again. “I never-”</p><p> </p><p>“You did. Back in the forest, by the trailer I found you in. You asked for help and then… well, you passed out almost right away. And seeing how there was no proper equipment to treat you there, the only logical solution was to bring you back here. Now if you could, please, stop moving, I’m almost finished.” </p><p> </p><p>The answer wasn’t as clear as Oswald had hoped for but, truly, what else could expect? Still, it gave him a bit of information about his new companion. But that should be enough for him to figure out how to solve this riddle of a man, and once that was done—who knows—maybe he could even become a useful associate. It would be beneficial to have another informant in the G.C.P.D., this time a much more willing one. Nygma was far from stupid, so there was no point in even attempting to manipulate him, especially not after he’s acquired information about Oswald during his low moment. No, this was going to be much more complicated, but who was he to refuse a little challenge? Besides, against his better judgment, he still felt as though he owed Nygma a favor after the man had taken care of him, and then even went as far as put his mind back on the right track. Perhaps, Oswald could use a helping hand, indeed. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. clouds of smoke.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>He pressed his lips into a thin line and shook his head slightly, a clear sign of annoyance, as he freed himself from the billowed mess of covers. “I asked you if you had cigarettes, friend.” — further bonding between Oswald and Ed behind the scenes of s02e09</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Do you have cigarettes?” </p><p> </p><p>Ed straightened up from where he was standing by the stove, his head hung down and hands folded behind his back as put a kettle on a small fire burning. He pondered the question for precisely five seconds, weighing it in his mind and trying to determine whether he had misheard. That didn’t seem likely, although it still was a rather unexpected and peculiar inquiry--simultaneously perfectly within and entirely out of character. With the new path he had taken in his life, he certainly was in no position to complain about the lack of entertainment or adrenaline, but the perspective of learning something new gave him a thrilling rush nonetheless, heat rising on his high cheekbones and heart stuttering for a blink of an eye. He exhaled slowly at the sudden buzzing in his blood, trying to keep his composure as best as he possibly could. Seeing how he had no appearances to uphold, with excitement influencing his behaviour in the past, he could have had just let go and start prodding in his usual manner, however now he had a greater goal in mind. He wanted to prove, nearly desperately, that he was a worthy ally. </p><p> </p><p>Slightly trembling, as if the blood in his veins was blubbing and fizzing, he spun around on his foot to face his companion. By that time, Oswald had already made himself more than comfortable in Ed’s apartment, moving around it as if it belonged to him, albeit still with a bit of difficulty due to his injuries. As the water was heating up, the infamous Penguin was spread rather comfortably in Ed’s bed, tangled up in the thick duvet with his sleep-mussed black hair protruding in every direction and with a plate in his lap. He was eating the sandwich Ed had made for him as a snack only minutes prior, more than happy to see his new friend get his appetite back. It took a bit of work to put him back in his right state of mind, but even with that regained, one could have difficulties believing that a man looking so small and so fragile could be one of Gotham’s most notorious killers. </p><p> </p><p>Smiling, Ed raised his eyebrows slightly. “Do I have what now?” he asked innocently, hoping he wasn’t making it obvious just how much he <em>adored </em>getting Oswald to talk instead of making educated guesses or drawing out conclusions himself. “Sorry, didn’t hear you.”</p><p> </p><p>In response, Oswald gave him a highly displeased look, putting his sandwich down on the plate. He pressed his lips into a thin line and shook his head slightly, a clear sign of annoyance, as he freed himself from the billowed mess of covers. “I asked you if you had cigarettes, friend,” he said, bare feet already on the floor, one of his hands put down firmly on the bedside table to help get himself up. Ed hadn’t had the chance to get a proper look at this particular issue just yet, but from his understanding and observations, Oswald’s old injury extended only to his foot, not reaching further up than past his ankle, middle of his calf at most. It was curious as to why, with all of Gotham sitting in the palm of his hand, he still hadn’t elected to do anything about it. By the way he moved, and the expressions he made when he thought nobody was looking, it was clear that it was causing him pain every now and then--something that could be easily remedied with a solution as simple as a brace. “I could smell smoke on you when you came in.” </p><p> </p><p>Ah. Brilliant. He was so observant, it was <em>delightful </em>to see the cogs in his brain spinning yet again after the depressive dump that had held him for a couple of days. “Well, I’m an adult man, Mr Penguin,” Ed remarked, still smiling, but his fingers were itching. “I can have a shameful cigarette every now and then. It’s definitely not the worst thing I’ve done in life.” </p><p> </p><p>“Do you genuinely believe that I am <em>judging </em>you for <em>smoking </em>?” Oswald asked as he limped across the apartment, resting his hip against the counter right next to where Ed was standing. Under his care, the dark circles around Oswald’s eyes had significantly faded, although he sincerely doubted they would ever completely go away. It was a good thing, too, it was adding to the image, oddly reminding of a sickly, yet cunning and powerful Victorian young man. “I’m the king of Gotham, <em>Ed </em>,” oh, he liked the way Oswald pronounced his name. “You would need to do far, far more than to <em>smoke </em>and kill a few people to impress me. I would like one.” </p><p> </p><p>Ed blinked. A little “pardon me?” escaped his lips, trembling with excitement at the edges, right before he remembered to gather himself up. His smile only widened as he nodded his head, not minding the confused look on Oswald’s face. He was more than used to people reacting far less pleasantly to his questionable social skills, so he could at least appreciate that his new friend wasn’t judging him in that matter, either. If anything, Ed felt as though there was some sort of a connection between them. They were both coming from a background where they were mocked and ridiculed, treated as lesser for no other reason than standing out a little from the generally agreed norm. And here they were now, taking a sort of revenge, proving everyone wrong. Truly, it could be no coincidence that Ed’s and Oswald’s paths had crossed again, and Ed dearly hoped for their… relationship to continue to blossom. “There you go,” he said as he pulled a slightly crumped pack out of the pocket of his trousers, taking one for himself as well. “I guess I took you more for a cigar kind of man.” </p><p> </p><p>With a surprisingly endearing scrunch of his nose, Oswald reached for the box of matches sitting next to the kettle. “Cigars are disgusting,” he muttered as he put the cigarette between his lips and ignited the tip of it. He inhaled deeply, his eyes shutting close for a second of unadulterated pleasure. He then exhaled slowly and continued: “They taste terrible, and so does bourbon. And they are both pretended to be enjoyed by the men who think that they have something to prove. Their masculinity, I suppose, but I’m afraid the effect is precisely the opposite.” </p><p> </p><p>“Oh?” Ed made a sound of surprise around the filter of his cigarette as he held it up to his mouth with two fingers, the yellow light from the burning tobacco battling on his face with the green glow of the neon seeping from the outside. “That is a… rather interesting observation there, Mr Penguin. Why are you telling me this?” he wanted to know, but his heart already accelerated as he anticipated the obvious answer. This was all so thrilling, so <em>beautiful </em>. It was putting him in a state similar to the rush he had felt when he killed those three people, like for the very first time he was alive, waking up from a deep slumber. </p><p> </p><p>Oswald didn’t respond right away, taking his time with the cigarette he was evidently thoroughly enjoying. If he was used to smoking, even if it were only in rare circumstances as a means to relieve stress, those past days without a single drag must have had been difficult on him. Hopefully, now he would become even more relaxed, more approachable. “This is why I’m here, is it not?” he finally replied with a question. He made a vague gesture with his hands, strings of smoke following his movements. “You wanted me… to guide you on this new path of yours, whatever that means to you. So treat this as your first advice, because, as you pointed out yourself, a man with a weakness is a man that can be bargained. And it’s crucial to know what that weakness is.”</p><p> </p><p>More enthusiastically than he planned on, Ed hummed in agreement, noting each word carefully in his mind. There was so much he could learn from Oswald, from the man who went from holding Fish Mooney’s umbrella to being easily one of the most powerful people in Gotham, and all of this over the span of a single year. It was impressive, really, admirable. To come in such a close contact with a man of almost legend was a wonderful experience, not stained by the rough mental shape Oswald had been in the beginning. Sometimes people simply needed a push—Ed knew something about it—and he was more than happy to have had been able to provide Oswald with it. But even besides all the admiration, Ed had found himself growing fond of his companion in a manner going beyond respect. </p><p> </p><p>He thought for a moment, listening to the quiet crackling of his cigarette. Then he spoke up again, watching Oswald smoke: “I can make your heart beat fast, or not at all. I can make you sweat and tremble in fear. I can make you sing and cry with glee. I can cause you pain and I can bring you joy. I am the most obvious and the greatest unknown. What am I?” </p><p> </p><p>Arm tucked across his chest, Oswald’s eyebrows drew together as he focused on the riddle. His cigarette was almost completely burnt out, the shimmering red and orange quickly eating through the thin paper, coming dangerously close to white knuckles. “Another one of your riddles?” he grunted, and although he likely meant to sound tired or annoyed, there was just enough of amusement in his tone that gave Ed a pleasant pang in his chest. “I… I don’t know.”</p><p> </p><p>Ed gave him a smirk, an all-knowing quirk of the corners of his lips stretching across his face, causing dimples to appear in his cheeks, wrinkles around his eyes. He exhaled the smoke slowly, his gaze shifting from the swirling blue lines of smoke to the cold and endless blue of Oswald’s eyes. He didn’t know either. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. the little things.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Oswald visited once a week, usually every Saturday, and right away it had become the one thing Ed could look forward to, one ray of sunshine pushing through the black, thick fog that so often entrapped his brain in darkest of thoughts. But the conversations, little glimpses into Gotham’s life, weren’t exactly the only thing so successfully improving Ed’s state of mind, no. — the development of the relationship between Edward and Oswald shortly before and during s03e01</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>His stay in Arkham was dragging out into eternity, each excruciating second only further stretched by an almost complete lack of any kind of mental stimulation. There were not many things for him to do in this gloomy, dispiriting place, and the things there had once been, he had already done more than once. The selection of reading material available in the excuse of a library was far from satisfactory, as it mostly consisted of children’s books or magazines, but Ed still devoured whatever he could get his hands on, going as far as memorizing some of the more bearable chapters and articles, just to occupy his mind with something. Once he had dug through everything there was, he began closely watching and observing all of the inmates he was coming in contact with, only to later analyze and meticulously categorize their behaviours and personalities. He focused on the task so thoroughly that he had become fairly certain that he knew more about those people’s lives and conditions that the doctors who were supposed to treat them would ever care to learn. Piling up these information in his head made it infinitely easier to go about his days and avoid being trapped in a situation he would not know how to resolve. But even that little project had eventually come to an end, and Ed was beginning to wither. </p><p> </p><p>As the long months passed, there had been only a few little things left that still brought a bit of variety into his life, and they were all connected to Oswald. He had regained his wits and his complex personality somewhere between visiting Ed for the last time in his apartment, covered in feathers and behaving like a broken version of himself, and the evacuation of Doctor Strange’s test subjects from the basement of Arkham. Soon after new staff had been hired and life at the facility had returned to its crooked norm, the visits had begun. Ed had been utterly confused the first time it had happened, although he couldn’t deny that upon seeing Oswald he had felt alive for the first time in a rather long stretch. His heart had jumped, his blood had fizzed, excitement and something just a few shades away from genuine happiness swelling under his skin. He had not realized just how much he had missed his feathered friend until they had seen each other again, sat down by the scratched table and held the first real conversation Ed had in endless weeks. And then, it had become the norm.</p><p> </p><p>Oswald visited once a week, usually every Saturday, and right away it had become the one thing Ed could look forward to, one ray of sunshine pushing through the black, thick fog that so often entrapped his brain in darkest of thoughts. But the conversations, little glimpses into Gotham’s life, weren’t exactly the <em>only </em>thing so successfully improving Ed’s state of mind, no. Come to think of it, he had to admit, that what had the truly positive effect on him was that Oswald seemed to think about him, sometimes. Oswald did not only come to visit to offer updates on the current state of politics—he also sent in boxes of Ed’s favourite brand of biscuits to snack on besides the terrible meals Arkham had to offer, and a sweater to ward off the cold of drafty, unheated cells, and proper books to actually bring some pleasure from reading. Sometimes, he would even bring a puzzle, knowing how fond of them Ed was, and how much he must had missed them. And he had been doing all of this… why? </p><p> </p><p>The question had never really occurred to Ed, as he was too occupied with enjoying the little luxuries and the impression that there was someone out there, someone who genuinely had his well-being in mind, someone who cared about him. He had only pondered this as he looked at the solved puzzle on the table before him, and even after receiving a seemingly truthful answer, he was still not satisfied. So, when he saw Oswald take the little paper penguin into his hands, with so much gentleness and honest glee, Ed decided to prod again: “Mr Penguin, I—” he started, but he was quickly corrected.</p><p> </p><p>“Oswald.”</p><p> </p><p>He nodded. “Oswald,” he repeated, and the name tasted strangely on his tongue. It was familiar and unknown at the same time, sweet and bitter, soothing and stinging; a mixture of contradictions the man sitting in front of him was the embodiment of. “I don’t want you to think like you’re in debt because I took care of you, once. You don’t have to… come in here, and send me gifts, just because you feel like you owe me. You don’t. I helped you because I wanted to, I told you that. You don’t—”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not doing this because I feel that I owe you, Ed,” Oswald interrupted him once again, his words making Ed feel as though there was a small, frail thing awakening in his chest, trembling and quivering at the sound of his name. He had been only called “an inmate”, “a patient” and “Nygma” for so long he had almost forgotten what his name sounded like in someone else’s mouth. Especially in <em>this </em>mouth, quirking in the corners, dimples sprouting around it. “You’ve been nothing but kind to me, and I want to return the favour, but I don’t see it as a debt. I come to see you because I enjoy our conversations. It feels good to talk to someone who doesn’t look down on you.” He pressed his lips tightly, jaw clenching with a quiet crack. “Besides, I feel you might just be my only <em>true </em>friend.” </p><p> </p><p>Ed sincerely hoped that Oswald could not see him buzz on the outside, for he certainly felt like there was a tingling, nearly burning vibration spreading through the inside of his body, through his flesh, his blood, his nerves and bones. He had to press his hands down against the surface of the table until his fingers turned white from the pressure to ground himself in place because there, suddenly, he was experiencing pure <em>joy </em>. Something about hearing these words made him experience all the positive emotions he had been denied for the past half a year all at once, almost like there was a small sun being born right underneath his skin, reminding him that he was still alive. In that moment, he had to confess in front of himself that it was not solely steaming from the fact that Oswald seemed to care for him, but rather because the feeling was very much mutual, and what Ed had felt for Oswald went beyond simple admiration and idolization. But… he did not want to think about this too much. Not then, not there, not when he was far too compromised to handle disappointment at the conclusion he might possibly draw from dwelling too deeply on this issue. </p><p> </p><p>Perhaps it was the deprivation from proper stimuli for an extended period of time that dulled his judgement, or fearing what he might find at the bottom of the feelings both of the parties might be holding, but had he paid closer attention, he would find something quite curious. He would see the unusual sparks of warmth in Oswald’s eyes whenever he looked at Ed, or the incredible softness and easiness in which he smiled, or the way he seemed to be just a little too tensed up to call it comfortable, or the way he held the paper penguin gently in his hands, stroking a thumb over it ever so slightly. Even if he were in any better shape, still there would be no way for him to know just how often Oswald had been thinking about him lately. There was no basis on which he could deduct that Oswald had visited Ed’s apartment to seek for things he could possibly send to Arkham as a gift, or how long it had taken him to pick a sweater that would be just in Ed’s taste, or how many books he personally researched to choose the right one. That Oswald had been relying on Ed just as much as he was relying on Oswald. Or that, in a way, somewhere deep down, they both knew that they only had each other.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. into the night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>No matter how hard he would try to restrain himself to not seem overly enthusiastic, Oswald still was utterly incapable of keeping his smile at bay as the door opened on the other side of the car, Ed slipping inside and taking a seat right next to him. — a conversation between Oswald and Edward during their ride from Arkham after s03e03</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Look. Friends. Buddies. Pals. Comrades. I know this isn't my best work but you're gonna have to excuse me as I wrote it on 4 hours of sleep and two cups of coffee alright? I really wanted to write about Ed's and Oz's ride from Arkham and whatever conversation they might've held and I knew that I wouldn't be able to continue watching if I hadn't written anything. Again—I know this isn't the best but I promise you that there's a hell of a treat for you in the next one ;) I've written #6 in advance and let's just say that it's gonna get,,, spicy. Keep your eyes out!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>No matter how hard he would try to restrain himself to not seem overly enthusiastic, Oswald still was utterly incapable of keeping his smile at bay as the door opened on the other side of the car, Ed slipping inside and taking a seat right next to him. There was a grin spreading across his chiselled face as well, all of the dips and angles and dimples only deepened by the dimmed light, painting him in half-shadows. “Oswald,” he greeted him, dragging out all the vowels in a playful manner. “I knew it was you... Well, I hoped it was. Well, you were the most logical explanation for my unexpected release from this cursed place. Ugh.” He closed his eyes, a shade of exhaustion spreading over his skin. “Thank you for that, really.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It was my pleasure, my dear Ed,” Oswald hummed, barely able to contain his excitement. He had been looking for ways to get Ed out of Arkham for quite a while now, but until very recently there had been no possibilities for him to do so. His contacts and influences simply had not run deep enough, and there had been no strings he could have had pulled, but with the recent developments in his career, he had gotten quite the leverage to do pretty much whatever he pleased. As soon as he had realized that he was now in a position strong enough to make this happen, it made its way to the very top of the list of his priorities. He had become deeply fond of Ed, so seeing him fading away behind the bars like that had been extremely distressing. But it was behind them now, and a whole, better future ahead. “But we must be going now, there are many duties to attend to, and many things to show you.” He then tapped his cane against the roof, letting the driver know that it was the time to return home. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ed’s eyebrows scrunched behind the rim of his glasses, brown eyes taking in the inside of the now moving car. “And where… are we going?” he asked, throwing his certificate carelessly onto the space between them. “Because I’m assuming that you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> going to give me a ride to my apartment?” He inhaled through his teeth. “Right, not that I expect it to be my apartment anymore. I haven’t paid rent in quite a while, and I don’t believe the landlord would be thrilled to have me back there.” He picked up up the piece of paper again, reading through it without much of an interest. “I guess this is all I have now.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Smiling still, Oswald laughed. “Don’t worry about this at all, my friend.” He waved his hand, feeling something warm in his chest, something he did not have time to pay a closer attention to right now, but something that was making him feel almost dazed. What he could admit for the time being, however, was that he was genuinely happy to see Ed again, and this time not with one of them wearing that awful striped jumpsuit. Over the course of the past six months, there hardly had been a day when Oswald wouldn’t be thinking about Ed, planning what to send him next, when their next visit would be, or simply giving him a passing thought as he went on about his business. He could very well be the only person Oswald felt like he could really trust. “All of your needs will be taken care of, and everything is ready back at my home. You’re welcome to take as much time as you need to rest, but I still think that we are going to be quite busy in the nearest future. I’m going to need your help, Ed.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Raising his curious gaze from above the document, Ed quickly ran his fingers through his hair, pushing away the wavy strands getting into his eyes. Although Oswald had grown to appreciate this fringe, he suspected that calling a hairdresser and providing some quality hair products would be in order to make his friend as comfortable as possible. “My help?” Ed echoed, alerted. “What do you need my help for?” he wanted to know. No matter how close their bond had become in these past months, and no matter the sentiment, it was Ed’s nearly unimaginably sharp mind that was the main reason as to why Oswald had hoped that he would become quite a valuable partner. All trust and honesty aside, his wits, cunning and ability to form elaborate plans were his biggest asset—asset that was now in Oswald’s possession, and he was intending on utilizing it as best as he could.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His smile only grew as he tapped his cane against the floor, shifting in his seat slightly so he could look at his companion with more ease. “I suppose that the flow of information from and to Arkham has only gotten worse recently,” he nodded his head understandingly, but his hands were already shaking. Oh, how excited he was to finally share this information. “I am running for mayor!” he said, shrugging in pretend modesty. “And, I have to admit, I have quite the support of the people. You could even say that my success is unavoidable, but… there are still a few things that need polishing here and there. And once I’ve won, which I obviously will, I think I could definitely use the help of a man, and a friend, with a set of skills such as yours.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Running for mayor? Oh.” Ed leaned slightly in, then back away, took three seconds and then added. “That’s… that’s actually amazing! You could run the whole city, legally, nobody could really stop you. That’s a genius idea.” Oswald could feel himself tremble ever so slightly at the praise, he very much enjoyed it when people could appreciate his genius. Especially people whose opinion mattered to him, and there were not many of them. “But, Oswald, I… I’m afraid that politics is just slightly outside of my field of expertise. I’m not sure what exactly you expect of me, but if there’s anything I can do to help you I will, of course.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scoffing, Oswald rested his elbow against the window. “Ed,” he said with a certain amount of softness to it, but firmly enough to let it be known that he was being absolutely serious. “There is no need to be shy. We both know that you’re quite possibly one of the most brilliant men in this city. Do you really think that there are no ways in which your mind could be put to use to make living in Gotham easier for people such as us?” He watched the change on Ed’s face, the faintest shade of pink crawling up his high cheekbones at the praise. “Exactly. But! All of this can wait until we have gotten home, and you have rested. When was the last time you had a proper meal or a hot shower?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The conversation had mostly died down after this, but not due to recklessly chosen words or unwanted abashment. Ed was exhausted and he needed some time to recover, but Oswald could already see, not without satisfaction, that there had already been a change in his eyes, like something inside him had awakened from a deep slumber. It was the thing he had already seen during their very first meeting at the G.C.P.D., something dark and dangerous, but how intriguing. There were moments in which looking at Ed felt like looking into the abyss, and it was thrilling to think what could possibly be lurking down there. There was something alluring in it, something magnetic, something almost begging to be discovered, although Oswald didn’t quite know how to find the right words to explain or describe it. Or, perhaps, he could, but he would rather not acknowledge that there had been feelings much deeper to it than sick curiosity. All he could admit to himself was that he wanted to keep Ed as close as possible. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. like two halves.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>He couldn’t help but wonder, what would happen if they touched? Would it set them on fire? Would they burn down to a crip, until there was nothing but empty shells left? Or would it burn and burn, too hot and too fierce to be ever put out as long as they were both alive? — a growth of tension between Oswald and Edward right after the events of s03e04</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello all. I have written this incredibly sexually charged piece at the ripe hour of 3 in the morning which as we know is the peak horny hours. Now there is not explicit smut here but it is definitely 🌶spicy🌶. Who knows perhaps even I would be able to be convinced to write the explicit continuation of it in the future ;) who knows who knows</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The mansion had been cleared of all the guests and a large portion of the remaining staff shortly after Oswald’s speech had been made and televised, leaving behind only the newly elected mayor himself, some security, and, of course, Ed. Even Butch had left them, not uttering a single word, but making it abundantly clear with his displeased expression that he was still utterly unimpressed with his boss’ choices in who to call friends. And, really, Ed couldn’t blame him—the plan he had pulled off was risky at best, and deadly dangerous at worst, but it had </span>
  <em>
    <span>worked</span>
  </em>
  <span>, achieving exactly what he wanted, the effects surpassing what he had originally hoped for. He wanted to help Oswald win in a way that would bring an abundance of benefits in the future, while simultaneously proving himself to him as a worthy ally. What he had gotten in the end was all of the above, with the addition of teaching Oswald a, hopefully, valuable lesson and being rewarded with the man’s fondness towards him growing more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It would be a lie if Ed said it ceased to make him light-headed whenever Oswald looked at him approvingly, or spoke to him kindly, as if he was some sort of a schoolboy parched for his teacher’s approval. But this was not how he wanted this relationship to work and, obviously, neither did Oswald. After all, it was precisely because he had treated Ed like his equal, like someone just as good—or someone just as bad—as him was what had made Ed become so attached, so infatuated in such a short period of time. Now, all there was left for him to do was to strengthen their bond, make sure that there was nothing that could possibly come between them, nothing that could tear them apart. He anticipated that there would be bumps along the road, ready to be threatened, perhaps even beaten sooner or later, but as long as it would still be the two of them in the end, he was prepared. He was prepared for whatever it took. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And celebrating their victory in the peace and intimacy of the mansion’s living room over a glass of wine seemed like a perfect opportunity to get closer to Oswald. Although the thought of admitting it to himself was rather troubling and unnerving still, with the events of the past days there was no longer any point in Ed lying to himself. He knew, and he had likely known for a while, that what he had felt for Oswald was far beyond admiration, far beyond friendship. Yes, he had loved Ms Kringle once, but not even she made him feel quite like that, like there was an itch gnawing at him just behind his reach, taunting, that could only be relieved by one person. Like a fever that only grew hotter and more intense whenever they saw each other, whenever they were together, whenever they spoke. He couldn’t help but wonder, what would happen if they touched? Would it set them on fire? Would they burn down to a crip, until there was nothing but empty shells left? Or would it burn and burn, too hot and too fierce to be ever put out as long as they were both alive?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As they sat together, drinking, enjoying each other’s company, Ed gave this perspective even more thought, while paying a close attention to the way Oswald interacted with him. It was in a manner so vastly different from the way he spoke with anyone else—more open, more trusting, more welcoming. Warmer. Tilting his head to the side, eyes alert, Ed finally risked the question: “Why are you looking at me like this?” It was posed in a slightly mocking way, almost like a challenge, with a deeper edge to it, suggestive. A dicey and daring move that could either be the very best, or the very worst decision he had ever made.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oswald’s hand froze in the air, his glass barely touching his bottom lip as his expression faltered for a brief moment, the glow he had been surrounded with since his victory had been announced breaking away for a heartbeat. He exhaled air sharply from his lungs, almost like a chuckle, his mouth twitching in a rather dishonest parody of a smile. It was difficult not to notice how his entire frame immediately tensed up, like he had suddenly found himself in danger. “What…” he asked in an amused tone, “what do you mean?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Like you’re starving,” Ed responded as he sat up straighter on his side of the couch, his gaze not drawing from Oswald for even a split second, watching him, observing, trapping right where he was. His thumb caressed the curve of his glass gently, the smell and the taste of the quite frankly exquisite wine getting to him with surprising strength after months of abstinence. Perhaps it was precisely that, the alcohol, that caused him to behave this boldly, or it was the exultation at being set free and the relief of never having to go back to that godforsaken place, or maybe even a desperate need to feel something he had hardly experienced before, a proof that he was still alive. That, or now was the first time he had the opportunity to act on the very feelings that had been growing inside him, so lovingly cultivated and tended to for seven long, long months. “And I’m a piece of steak.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Many things could be said about Oswald Cobblepot, but that he could conceal his emotion and remain cold certainly were not one of them. Upon hearing Ed’s words, his face immediately dropped, jaw clenched, lips pressed, fingers tightened significantly on the slim stem of his glass. There was a bleak shimmer in the shape of fear in his pale blue eyes, skin turning white even in the orange glow of the nearby fireplace. “I,” he stammered, like his tongue was suddenly too large in his mouth, like he had previously found himself in this situation and it did not end well for him. “I do apologize, sincerely, if I did something to make you feel uncomfortable, my friend.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ed shook his head, a little too quickly and a little too bordering with desperation for his own liking. “No,” he assured Oswald, hand reaching slightly towards him. He wanted to touch him. God, how he wanted to touch him so badly, but he feared that if he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop. “You didn’t. I was… I was just wondering why you looked so </span>
  <em>
    <span>hungry</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He let out a breath. What would happen? What would happen if he were to curl his palm around Oswald’s slender wrist, feel his pulse under his fingertips?  “Not in a bad way.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Immediately, there was recognition in Oswald’s eyes as the cogs clicked in his brain, as he understood the clear, almost vulgar implication here. His entire being changed right away, the tension and the fear gone only to be replaced with confidence, satisfaction, and perhaps even a dose of disbelief. “Maybe you just look appetizing,” he replied, and the way his voice lowered made something in Ed’s guts stir, his overly eager heart beating in his chest so violently it hurt. “Makes me wonder what you might taste like.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The tension around them was charged like nothing Ed had ever experienced for as long as he had lived, not even the thrill of murders and framing of Jim Gordon intoxicating him this intensely. He could feel his entire body tremble from the amount of self-restraint it took him to not grab Oswald right away, dig his fingers into his flesh, see what he smelled like, see what he tasted like, see what he </span>
  <em>
    <span>felt </span>
  </em>
  <span>like. But acting on these desires would be unwise, no matter how much it put him in nearly physical pain to hold himself back like this, he did not want to be the one to make this move, to cross this line. There would be no going back from it. All he could muster himself to do was inhale shakily, swallow down hard around the lump growing in his throat and pose a challenge: “Maybe you should try.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oswald gave a soft, quiet laugh, close to a moan, baring his teeth like a predator, looking up and down and… oh, dear, how, and when did he get so close? So close that Ed could feel his breath on his face, their noses brushing against each other as he moved his head ever so slightly. “Perhaps I should have just </span>
  <em>
    <span>a little bite</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he murmured like a promise, and right when Ed thought that he would finally lean in more, that he would finally see what kind of fire would engulf his mind and body, Oswald was gone from his atmosphere, leaving him cold and confused. “Come on.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dizzy from the blood humming in his ears like static, Ed looked up at Oswald standing above him, anticipating. He could barely focus his gaze on anything, too shaken up to properly perceive and process his surroundings. “I…” he slurred, not even as much as realizing that his glass was dangerously tilted, threatening to spill the expensive wine onto the cushions. So close. He got so close, and now- “What? Where? Why?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What he received in response was a wicked grin, and an intense look from a pair of burning eyes, and a hand reaching out to clench around his tie and pull him from his seat.  “Upstairs.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh. </span>
  </em>
</p>
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